


A Quiet Darkness

by moneychangeseverything



Series: Jazzwave Week 2020 [1]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Background MegOp, Cosmos and Soundwave are Amica, Exes to Lovers, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Jazzwave Week 2020, M/M, Mech Preg (Transformers), Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ravage is Tired, Texting, idiots to lovers, only mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moneychangeseverything/pseuds/moneychangeseverything
Summary: A collection of fics for Jazzwave Week 2020!
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave (Transformers)
Series: Jazzwave Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969888
Comments: 48
Kudos: 109
Collections: Jazzwave Week 2020





	1. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first day of Jazzwave Week 2020!  
> For the prompt 'symphony', set vaguely during the G1 cartoon.

It hit Jazz like a brick every time he noticed it - Soundwave did literally all the work in the Deception faction. 

Gathering intel on any other 'con was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. Megatron came up with stupid, ineffective plans to kill Autobots. Starscream came up with stupid, ineffective plans to kill Megatron. Shockwave came up with morally bankrupt and tactically useless experiments that benefited no one but himself. 

And that was just high command - mixing in the antics of the gestalt heads and team leaders created a whole new level of stupidity and incompetence. But somehow, the ragtag collection of egotists and fools that called themselves Megatron’s Glorious Decepticon Army managed to consistently fight the Autobots to a standstill. 

It was all because of Soundwave. 

There was no other way to look at it. The communications officer put together all the tactical and strategic plans - that was technically Starscream’s responsibility, but the seeker could so rarely find time between his schemes. Soundwave also produced energon cubes, then ensured they were filled and transported them back to actually fuel the troops - though in theory all Decepticons were supposed to be self-sustaining warriors, fueling on energon they won personally, in battle. The boombox also dealt with Megaton’s outbursts, Starscream’s outbursts, and Shockwave’s passive-aggressive emails every day, and still managed to keep things running. 

Some credit had to go to the cassettes, too - without them, there would be no functioning Decepticon intelligence system. Without Laserbeak and Buzzsaw in the sky, Ravage in the vents, and Rumble and Frenzy creating chaos, Jazz was pretty sure he’d have been able to take at least two combiners and a respectable number of seekers out of the equation. 

Optimus didn’t like that kind of thinking but, hey - that was the kind of thinking that won wars. The most significant strategic victory would, of course, be taking out Soundwave himself, but Jazz was reluctant to suggest it. 

Oh, there were any number of good reasons, though the one that Jazz would use, if Prowl ever brought it up, was the simplest; without Soundwave on the job, the Deceptions would be more erratic and unpredictable, greatly increasing the risk to nearby human populations. Optimus would never authorize assisnation on principle, but with an honourable ‘protect the aliens’ rationale, he wouldn’t even have to feel guilty about it. Well, good - the Prime carried enough guilt. 

Still, nothing was stopping Jazz from killing Soundwave and making it look like an accident, or internal conflict gone wrong - nothing but the not-inconsiderable skill of the mech himself. 

And possibly something else. Some kind of lingering feeling. 

Jazz was a mech who prided himself on knowing his own processor - and at the end of the day, there was no denying that he had a soft spot for the boombox. They were alike in a lot of ways. 

It wasn’t that they were both third in command of their respective factions, or even their specialities. They might both deal in intelligence, but Jazz knew that Soundwave was so much more than that. When it came to real value to the cause, he had to be on the level of Prowl, if not the Prime himself. Jazz wasn’t nearly as important. 

No, whatever feeling Jazz had for Soundwave wasn't about the war. It sounded bizarre, but sometimes when he was surveilling the boombox, Jazz didn't think about the war at all. 

He just - he made it look so damn easy. Soundwave juggled interpersonal drama, logistical tasks and full-scale battles with a no-nonsense efficiency that was almost graceful, and he still made time for his cassettes. Most night cycles found him sitting in his berth, secondary cables plugged into the console running surveillance, and Ravage in his lap. He played video games with Rumble and Frenzy, and bullied the seekers into providing cover when Laserbeak or Buzzsaw wanted a flight. He fueled regularly, maintained a running game of three dimensional chess with Onslaught, and never, ever slept. 

The thing was, Soundwave lived his life like they weren't at war. And Jazz - sometimes Jazz just needed to remember that that was possible. Sometimes, he just needed to curl up in a ventilation duct and listen to Soundwave hum his cassettes to sleep. 

So maybe the boombox was 'some kinda freak of nature' (Ironhide) and an 'extremely high value tactical and strategic target' (Prowl). Maybe he was the only reason the Decepticons hadn't lost the war yet. Soundwave was also, in some kind of twisted, messed-up way, the only person keeping Jazz sane. 

\--

Soundwave was watching Jazz again. 

The observation came through their host-symbiont bond, thick with the sense of Ravage's commingled amusement and disapproval. 

No, Soundwave refuted - it would be more accurate to say that he was reviewing surveillance footage of the Ark on his HUD, while conducting Ravage's routine maintenance, the same way he did every night-cycle. Soundwave valued the time after Megatron had gone to recharge and Starscream holed himself up in his lab; it was the quietest period, ideal for running analysis on the data his cassettes had collected throughout the day.

And if a significant amount of that data was video of the Autobots' third in command? That was Soundwave's business as head of special operations, and nobody but he (and Ravage, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Rumble and Frenzy) needed to know about it. 

Besides, Jazz was worth watching. The little grounder - and he was nearly a minibot, it was ridiculous that someone so small should be so lethal, when some deeply buried piece of Soundwave's code always wanted him to pick the mech up and protect him - was so unpredictable. 

Some days he did nothing but sit in the crew mess on the Ark and chat with random members of the faction. Soundwave had thought nothing of this for years, until he discovered that Autobot productivity rose between fourteen and eighteen percent for the entire orn after one of Jazz's ‘talking days’. Other shifts, he sat between the Prime's bodyguard and second in command and played the two mechs off each other, so effortlessly that neither realized they'd both agreed to Jazz's suggested course of action. 

Soundwave couldn't help but think that if he just had more data, he'd be able to understand how the black and white mech did it. But even after millions of years feeding his algorithm, a coin toss could predict Jazz's next move about as well as he could. 

It was fascinating. 

Soundwave could usually see, in retrospect, the way that Jazz used his faction's soft-sparked silliness and arbitrary, unspoken rules to manipulate the rest of Autobot high command into doing what he wanted. But in the moment, every word out of the mech's mouth seemed more illogical than the last. 

He doubted the other Autobots understood it, either. Everyone seemed to take Jazz at face value, even when doing so was obviously ridiculous. The black and white mech could stroll through the halls with energon on his hands, and bots would still call out to him, or stop to have a chat. Jazz would stand there with a smile on his face, bopping his head and whistling a tune, and nobody would notice the way his servos shook, or that he never un-tensed his shoulders. 

Naive fools, the lot of them. Any Decepticon still alive at this point in the war knew exactly how dangerous Jazz was, but the Autobots treated him as a sort of morale officer. Good time Jazz, the laid back member of high command, just as likely to sit down and have a drink with you as write you up when he found the latest still. As if that made him any less lethal. 

No, Jazz wasn't someone to mess around with - he wasn't stupid, like the Prime, or easily distracted, like the battle computer. Jazz was sharp, and unpredictable, and - no, Ravage, the mech's looks weren't relevant to this assessment - and interesting. 

So yes, Soundwave liked to spend some time each cycle thinking about Jazz; it was tactically sound to maintain awareness of the enemy's key players, and it was something to think about that didn't make him want to rip out his own data cables by the roots. If obsessing over the Autobot's third in command was Soundwave's escape as well as his duty, no one needed to know. 

At least it was more productive than trying to assassinate Megatron. 

\-- 

::He's up there again:: Buzzsaw messaged the cassettes' private chat. 

::What's he doing?:: Laserbeak asked - she was lounging in Soundwave's hands, thoroughly enjoying her ornly maintenance, and definitely wasn't planning to fly up and check for herself. 

::The usual. He's curled up, listening. Crying.::

::Crying?:: Rumble usually didn't bother with the spy stuff his siblings got up to - not his division, thanks - but Jazz was kind of cool, for an Autobutt. Why was he crying in their vents instead of in his own base like a normal person? 

::Definitely - I've picked up the sound of his systems more than three times in past joor. Stealth mods as good as his don't cut out for anything less than serious sobbing.:: Buzzsaw confirmed. 

::Why do you even know that?:: Frenzy asked snidely. 

::Experience. Not that you'd know anything about that, sparkling!:: Buzzsaw jeered. 

::I am not a sparkling!:: Frenzy whined. 

::Enough.:: Ravage rarely contributed to the chat, but when he did, his word was law. 

::What do you think we should do?:: Laserbeak asked. 

::Tell him to go away?:: Frenzy offered. 

::Tell the boss?:: Rumble suggested. 

::Soundwave’s watching Jazz videos, again - maybe telling him isn’t the best idea.:: Laserbeak said. 

::Or maybe, it’s a great idea!:: Rumble countered. ::They’re already obsessed with each other. Maybe they should just - talk. I dunno.:: 

There was a pause. Nobody was composing a message. They were at an impasse. 

Frenzy finally asked the question they were all thinking. ::Ravage? What should we do?:: 

Ravage didn’t reply, but he crawled out from underneath Soundwave’s berth and climbed up into the ventilation ducts. 

::Oh frag! What do you think he’s gonna do?:: Rumble asked Frenzy, in their private chat. Ravage could still decode it, but it was the principle of the thing, really. 

::Nothing good.:: Frenzy replied.

\-- 

Soundwave shunted his surveillance analysis to background processing when he felt Ravage get up - his eldest symbiont typically spent at least another joor under the berth before beginning his evening rounds. Rumble and Frenzy were whispering together, too, and Laserbeak had tensed in his hands. Something out of the ordinary was happening.

Still, if Ravage was handling it, Soundwave was content to wait and see. He kept his optics on, but went back to coaxing the tangles out of Laserbeak’s wires. 

A few moments later, Ravage backed out of the vent opening, dragging Jazz by the scruff of his neck, and Soundwave regretted his decision. 

“Query -” he began, then paused. What could he even ask, in this situation? Soundwave was on edge, processor spinning; Jazz was never sloppy - there was no way that he would’ve let the cassettes catch him unless he meant to. What was his angle? 

The Autobot spy was surprisingly docile, hanging in Ravage’s grip, but his optics were online and he didn’t seem to be injured. Biding his time to lull them into a false sense of security, perhaps? Primus knew Soundwave couldn’t predict his next move, save that it would be something hard-to-counter, and likely end up damaging Soundwave himself, rather than the cassettes. 

He quickly docked Laserbeak - she wouldn’t be in any shape to fly, with her maintenance only half-done - and waited for Ravage to drop the mech so that he could cuff him and begin hardline questioning. 

Instead, Ravage climbed onto the berth and awkwardly shoved Jazz into his lap. Soundwave’s arms came up automatically, keeping the smaller bot from falling to the floor. He restarted his reality matrix. 

“Heya, Sounders,” Jazz said, grinning and wrapping his arms around the boombox’s neck. 

Soundwave’s processor crashed. 

When he rebooted, he was still sitting on the berth, but Jazz was hovering awkwardly by the door, surrounded by cassettes. 

“You fragging killed the boss!” Rumble was yelling, though he had to know that Soundwave wasn’t offline - their sparkbond was whole, and pulsing rapidly with emotion. 

“He’s not dead!” Jazz protested, “And he’s not gonna be. I didn’t come here to kill anyone, so how ‘bout you just let me leave before he wakes up, ok? We can pretend this whole thing never happened.” 

“Negative,” Soundwave croaked. 

“Oh, frag,” Jazz muttered. He leapt into the air, clearly aiming for the still-uncovered vent, but Ravage caught his ankle before he could get a grip and dragged him back down. 

“Ravage: explain,” Soundwave commanded. 

Ravage glared around the room for a moment before sending a short-range comm. ::Jazz - you’ve been hiding up in the vents, watching Soundwave and crying for the past three orns. Soundwave - you’ve watched nothing but constant video footage of Jazz for longer than that. Both of you are slipping. Deal with this before someone assassinates you.:: 

He shot another blazing look at Soundwave and slid out the door. 

“Rumble, Frenzy, Buzzsaw: return.” 

“No way, boss!” 

“Not a chance!” 

“I’m not missing this.” 

“Return,” Soundwave insisted. They did, with quite a bit more grumbling.

While Soundwave was occupied with the symbionts, Jazz had half-heartedly begun to edge towards the door. He stopped when Ravage growled from somewhere outside the hab suite. He might not want to be part of the conversation, but Ravage was definitely still keeping an eye on the proceedings - and if they didn’t resolve things to his satisfaction, they’d know. 

Once his symbionts were safely stowed, Soundwave looked up at Jazz. 

Jazz grinned. “I dunno what Ravage is talkin’ about, mech. I’m just doing normal surveillance stuff, same as always. You’re a tactical priority, what can I say?” 

Soundwave looked at the Autobot - happy face, tense body, servos shaking slightly, and yes - a hint of static in his voice. Jazz was seriously stressed. Not that knowing that helped Soundwave figure out what to do next. 

“Okay, okay, fine,” Jazz continued. “So it’s not like high command asked me to be here. But y’know, you’re a dangerous bot. I like to keep tabs in my spare time.” 

Another typical move; acting like he wasn’t a member of high command himself. Nobody had to send Jazz anywhere - as the head of spec ops, he planned the missions and decided which ones to execute himself, and which he’d delegate. He had to know that Soundwave knew his position, though. What was the point of acting like just another grunt after four million years of knowing each other as intimately as enemies could? 

“Sounders, my mech, you’re killin’ me. Say something, already! Or do you want that cat of yours to come back in here and smack me around some more?” 

Oh. Soundwave had been sitting in silence for quite some time, hadn’t he? Perhaps Ravage had a point about the surveillance videos. He was rather used to hearing Jazz talk without feeling the need to reply. 

He eventually decided to start with the most pertinent question. 

“Query: crying?” Soundwave asked. 

Jazz laughed awkwardly. “Heh, naw mech, not me. Crying? Nope. Just maybe a bit of a vent malfunction. A cold, as the humans say.” 

“Negative.” 

“What?” 

“Ravage, Buzzsaw: certain that Jazz cried.” 

“Frag, the bird too?” Jazz winced. “So okay, maybe my emotional circuits are a little out of whack. Four million years of war’ll do that to you. Or - maybe not to you. But to those of us who actually have feelings.” 

If Soundwave hadn’t recognised that as another one of Jazz’s strategies, he might have almost felt hurt. If anyone alive knew how much he loved his cassettes, Jazz did - he’d watched Soundwave long and hard enough. But of course, the Autobot was deflecting; trying to offend Soundwave rather than engage in a serious conversation. 

“Jazz: explain,” Soundwave insisted. 

“How ‘bout you explain, instead. The cat says you’re watching me all time - what’s that about, huh?” 

“Jazz: is a tactical priority.” 

“Oh whatever, Sounders. You think you’re cute and funny, sitting there making that face at me? Throwing my words back at me? If you don’t wanna have this conversation, I can go, mech.” Jazz was vibrating harder, now, and letting his irritation show. Soundwave didn’t know what exactly he wanted, but he didn’t want Jazz to leave. 

“Negative. Soundwave: watches Jazz. Reasons: many.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” 

Soundwave looked at the Autobot, still standing anxiously by the door, and shifted over on the berth. 

“Query: would Jazz like to sit?” 

Jazz blew out a vent and shrugged. “Sure, Sounders, if you want.” 

He walked over and hopped up onto the berth-top, facing Soundwave and crossing his legs. 

“Jazz: is unpredictable. Dangerous. Fascinating.” 

The bot in question smirked. “Yeah, that’s me - your friendly neighbourhood spy. It’s not news, though - I’ve been doin’ this for the past four million years. What changed?” 

“Earth. Jazz: dances, now. Sings. Jazz: seems more alive.” 

Jazz hummed, thoughtfully. His visor seemed hazy - Soundwave couldn’t interpret the expression on his face. 

“Query: what changed?” 

“For me, you mean? Here on Earth? It’s the music - ” 

Soundwave cut him off, recognizing one of Jazz’s favourite spiels. “Negative. Ravage: stated that Jazz spends more time in the vents, now. Query: why?” 

“I dunno, I guess it’s kinda being on Earth for me too. It’s these humans, y’know? They care about each other so much. Like - they’re awful to each other, too. But some of them love the others, it’s - I thought it was like nothing I’d seen before. Except then, I realized that it reminded me of you. The way you are with the cassettes, y’know? There’s just something about that. I dunno.” 

“Cybertronians: love one another.” 

“Sure, yeah, we did. Before the war. But you - you still do. Sometimes, it feels like you’re the only one out of all of us who still remembers how.” 

“Negative. Jazz: remembers. Jazz: takes joy in the moment. Jazz: can still dance, sing. Other Decepticons, Autobots: slog through. Jazz: lives.” 

“Slag, mech - that’s just me. If I didn’t enjoy the little things, I’d have nothing at all, y’know?” 

“Soundwave: loves family. Otherwise: has nothing at all.”

“Guess we’re not so different after all, huh, Sounders?” Jazz rolled his eyes at the boombox with a grin - revelling in the sappy, classically Autobot line. Still, Soundwave wasn’t irritated; he couldn’t deny that the mech had a point. 

“Affirmative,” he replied. 

Jazz mellowed a little in the face of Soundwave’s sincerity, and they sat in silence together for a time. It was comfortable. 

“So what now?” Jazz asked eventually. 

“Query: what does Jazz want?” 

“Oh nothing much. For this war to be over. To go home to Cybertron. To play music in front of a crowd again, and then come home to a mech that loves me. Nothing that’s going to happen in this lifetime, that’s for sure. Why, what do you want?” 

“Cassettes: safe, happy. Cybertronians: free, equal. Cybertron: alive, thriving. Nothing much.” 

Jazz let out a humourless laugh. “What are we fighting a war over then, huh? All of that sounds pretty good to me.” 

Soundwave didn’t exactly disagree, but - “Free Cybertron: incompatible with theocratic leadership,” he clarified. 

“Frag, is that what you think Optimus wants?” 

“Primes: theocratic leaders - dictators. By definition.” 

“Yeah, they used to be. But Optimus isn’t like that, mech - you must know, you’ve surveilled him enough. Seriously, the guy is just waiting for the war to end so he can retire; he’s definitely not going to want to be in charge of anything during peacetime.” 

“Retire: pass on the Matrix of Leadership. New Prime: old problems.” 

“Naw, that’s not the plan - OP is used to the Matrix, I think he’s planning on keeping it until he offlines. Besides, the only one who’s exhibited any Signs of Affinity is Hot Rod - and that kid is less interested in becoming a dictator than I am.” 

Jazz was smiling now, practically dancing in his seat. Soundwave couldn’t suppress a rising tide of good feelings in his own spark, either. 

“Peace negotiations: theoretically possible,” he admitted. 

“Yeah? You think ‘ol Megs will go for it? He seems more interested in killing OP than anything else, these days.” 

“Leaders: can be convinced.” 

“Leaders, huh? You think I’ve got some convincing to do, too?” 

Soundwave smiled behind his mask. “Affirmative. But Soundwave: has confidence in Jazz’s ability.” 

“Me too, mech. Me too.” Jazz sighed happily and lay his helm against Soundwave’s shoulder, the last of the tension leaving his frame. 

The warmth of his plating was a shock, but a welcome one - Soundwave would be content to sit with Jazz, just like this, for the next four million years. But they couldn’t, of course. They had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback is loved!!   
> You can also find me at moneychanges_ev on twitter.


	2. Smoke Signals I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz is a cultural investigator in Iacon, tasked with tracking down bots who post seditious material on the datanet - his bosses are elitist afts, his best friend is obsessed with some gladiator, and who the frag is user: commsbot_superior, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt 'bliss', set before the war, TF:Prime 'verse.   
> Contains background MegOP, pre-war prime Soundwave with an arrogant gremlin personality along the lines of cyberverse Soundwave, and a fair amount of texting.

Another night cycle, another slog through the communications grid. Sometimes, Jazz wished he’d picked a job with better hours. But no, he’d had to listen to Alpha Trion’s speeches about ‘making a difference’ and ‘doing the right thing’ back at the academy - and now here he was, culturally investigating the darknet at three in the morning. 

He wasn’t so sure that he was doing the right thing anymore, either. 

Not that Halogen and the high council cared either way - they didn’t want Jazz to help people, just find them and hand over their real designations and locations to the enforcers. And Jazz did it, because it was that or end up in a cell himself. 

He wasn’t any worse off than ever, Jazz supposed. He had energon to drink and a roof over his head - life was arguably better now than it had been for a long time. So what if he’d briefly thought that he could have something more? Something like meaning, or virtue? Everymech was entitled to their share of youthful indiscretions. It would be fine - Jazz hadn’t forgotten how to look out for number one. 

And well - sometimes number two, he admitted to himself, as a comment from user:peacemech88 popped up on his feed. If he’d told Orion once, he’d told him a thousand times - if you want to engage with seditious material online, don’t use your own fragging handle. He’d made Orion multiple fake-ids, but did the bot ever use them? No, of course not. ‘Megatronus knows me as peacemech’, he’d say. ‘I don’t want Megatronus to think I’m not reading his latest work - what if he didn’t see a comment from peacemech and thought that I hated the new essay?’ he’d worry. 

Jazz would have liked to ask Orion if Megatronus’ theoretical happiness was worth going to prison for, but there was no point. The kid’s optics would just go all shiny and his voice would get earnest, and he’d say something like ‘it would be the least I could do, when Megatronus is risking so much to share his ideas with the world’. Jazz just couldn’t deal with that. 

Orion’s crushes were always annoying - that medic with the free clinic in the Dead End had been a real bastard - but he’d never fallen for an actual enemy of the state before. Of course, Mr. Head-Over-Heels Orion didn’t see it that way; he thought that the gladiator was practically the second coming of Primus, and wouldn’t hear a word against him. 

So no, it wasn’t worth it to argue. Orion would do what he always did - recklessly chat on the net with no regard for his own safety - and Jazz would clean up after him. Today that meant adjusting the trail of Orion’s comms to link back to somebot else - that afthole who’d cut him off in traffic earlier this morning would do - so that his peace-loving friend wouldn’t be implicated, even if another cultural investigator ran a trace on his report. Orion would have hated it, had he known, but well - Jazz didn’t care about that many people. He couldn’t afford to have one of the few that he did give two shanix about getting locked up or killed over a stupid crush. 

Jazz ex-vented wearily as he finished fixing Orion’s trail and went back watching the screen. Megatronus, also known as user:voxpopuli, had posted his latest diatribe just as the work-shifts were letting out in Kaon - which was, of course, the middle of the night in Iacon. Orion had already sent in a thoughtful, detailed response - embarrassing, everyone had to know that he’d set Megatronus’ posts to high-priority alert - and some other bots were trickling in with their responses. 

Just the usual suspects, so far; other Kaonite gladiators and manual labourers, people with so little money and influence that their opinions meant nothing to the high council. Jazz had long ago given up on reporting small fish like them. He scrolled through the essay again, looking for something different - a clue to who’d been supplying the movement with explosives would be ideal, but anything new would be good. 

Blah, blah, oppression, tyranny, freedom is the right of all sentient beings - same old, same old. Jazz could admit that Megatronus had come a long way as an author from his early days, but his talking points had stayed more or less the same. Back to top of the document for another pass through and - there. An author’s note? Megatronus didn’t usually bother with those - he liked to get straight to the point. But there it was, right under the byline; the author would like to thank user:commsbot_superior for his assistance with developing the ideas in this piece. 

Who the frag was commsbot_superior? Jazz hadn’t seen the handle before on any posts or comments. Could it be a new fake designation for one of Megatronus’ existing loyalists? The gladiator didn’t seem the type to credit just anyone - this commsbot had to be someone important. Jazz started doing some digging; just feeling it out, seeing what he could see, but he’d barely done more than the basics when his comm pinged with a private message. 

[commsbot_superior]: query - goodvibes42 seeking further information on this user? 

[goodvibes42]: Hey, wassup? How’d you get this frequency? 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - does not intend to answer previous query? 

[goodvibes42]: Could ask you the same question, my mech. 

[commsbot_superior]: user’s actions - detected. frequency - not difficult to locate. commsbot_superior - superior. 

[goodvibes42]: Uh yeah, okay mech. Whatever you say. 

[commsbot_superior]: initial query - restated.

[goodvibes42]: What? 

[commsbot_superior]: initial query - restated.

[goodvibes42]: Am I talking to a fragging algorithm, here? 

[commsbot_superior]: initial query - restated.

[goodvibes42]: Primus! Alright, alright, I give. Yeah, I looked you up, ‘cuz I saw you mentioned in the latest voxpopuli essay. I just wanted to know more about the mech who caught Megatronus’ optic, y’know? 

[commsbot_superior]: query - user has knowledge of voxpopuli’s designation irl? 

[goodvibes42]: LOL! You don’t strike me as someone who uses acronyms, even online. 

[commsbot_superior]: initialisms - efficient. query - restated. 

[goodvibes42]: Yeah, yeah, don’t get all stressed out on me again. So what if I know Megatronus’ name? It’s no big secret.

[commsbot_superior]: negative. 

[goodvibes42]: Negative what? Negative like no, it is actually a secret? ‘Cuz if that’s what you think mech, I hate to break it to you, but the high council has known who Megatronus is for a long time. 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - has knowledge of the high council? 

[goodvibes42]: So what if I do? 

[commsbot_superior]: this user - willing to trade information. 

[goodvibes42]: Alright, my mech, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. 

\-- 

Jazz had been chatting on and off with commsbot_superior for a couple of cycles, and he’d learned - well, mostly he’d learned that commsbot was a weirdo. He talked a good game about trading information, but he wasn’t willing to admit to any link between Megatronus and the Decepticon movement, wouldn’t name any suppliers or donors, and refused to disclose anyone’s real names or locations. All of that was fair enough - Jazz hadn’t given him anything useful either - but commsbot never seemed to get frustrated or want to end the conversation. He just kept sending his weird little queries, chatting away with that stilted syntax. Jazz couldn’t get a handle on it. 

Yesterday’s conversation was a typical example. 

[commsbot_superior]: query - goodvibes42’s cycle? 

[goodvibes42]: Not bad, my mech. Not bad at all. You? 

[commsbot_superior]: acceptable. 

[goodvibes42]: Dope, dope. 

[commsbot_superior]: query - intentions to visit kaon? 

[goodvibes42]: Uh, I’m pretty much exclusively based out of Iacon, mech. But maybe one day; a friend of mine is getting pretty determined to head over to see y’all. 

[commsbot_superior]: query - Orion Pax? 

[goodvibes42]: Haha, no? Who’s Orion Pax? 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - not a good liar. 

[goodvibes42]: Libel and slander, mech. I’m a damn fine liar, and you know it. 

[commsbot_superior]: acknowledged. still - commsbot, superior. 

[goodvibes42]: You tracked my handle’s net-activity, you mean. 

[commsbot_superior]: encryption - excellent. 

[goodvibes42]: But commsbot superior, yeah, yeah, I know. So what? What are you gonna do with the info, huh? 

[commsbot_superior]: no plans. yet. 

[goodvibes42]: Well that’s not fragging ominous at all, is it? 

[commsbot_superior]: negative. 

[goodvibes42]: Negative? Primus, bot, I really wish you’d just say what you mean sometimes. What’s to stop me from going dark on you, huh? I could change my codes and mock up a new identity without any links to this one. 

[commsbot_superior]: negative. new identity - not required. commsbot - not a threat. 

[goodvibes42]: If you’re not a threat, what was the point of hacking me? 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - the threat. 

[goodvibes42]: C’mon mech, you already know I’m not gonna turn you in. You’re good enough to tell that I scrubbed you from my reports, same way I did Orion. 

[commsbot_superior]: relationship with Orion - admitted? 

[goodvibes42]: Whatever, it’s not a secret that the kid’s been following me around for vorns. And well, somebot has to keep him out of trouble. 

[commsbot_superior]: query - nature of relationship with Orion? 

[goodvibes42]: You askin’ for yourself, or for your buddy Megatronus? 

[commsbot_superior]: both. 

[goodvibes42]: Well, sorry CB - kid’s pretty enamoured with your speechifying gladiator pal. I dunno if you’ve got much chance, but I wish you luck. 

[commsbot_superior]: negative. 

[goodvibes42]: You think you’ve got a good chance? Well, alright mech. Far be it from me to take aim at confidence like that. 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - 

[goodvibes42]: Oh slag! Sorry mech, something just came up. I gotta go. 

[commsbot_superior]: understood. conversation - will resume. 

[goodvibes42]: Sure, sure, I’ll talk to you later. 

Just what in the pit was Jazz supposed to take from that? Their messaging sessions would always end that way, too - with Jazz having to leave or just seeing no point in continuing, and commsbot coming back with “conversation - will resume”. It wasn’t easy to argue with someone that taciturn, and - well. Jazz could have tried harder to get the bot off his back, but he had to admit that some part of him was enjoying the exchanges. 

They were bizarre, but also sort of interesting. The mystery of what commsbot wanted was certainly more satisfying to think about than the latest ways the high council was asking Jazz to betray his fellow mechs. Commsbot had a dry sense of humour under that odd language pattern, too - Jazz was kind of starting to like him. 

It didn’t matter, of course. Jazz liked lots of people - he was easy that way. But liking wasn’t the same as caring, and if commsbot put Jazz or Orion in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to take him out. For now, though, it wouldn’t hurt to go with the flow. 

\-- 

The doors of the transport whoosed open, and Jazz was rocked back on his pedes by the gust of hot, Kaonite air that blew in. He turned to Orion, and saw his friend running a quick lubrication cycle to clear the dust out of his optics. Good call, Jazz thought, wiping at his own faceplate - it wouldn’t do to meet the slagmaker himself, the great champion Megatronus, looking like some kind of dirty waif. 

Then again, guttermech might not be a bad act for this particular meeting. Jazz didn’t want Megatronus paying too much attention to him - best that the gladiator keep his focus on Orion, so he wouldn’t see Jazz’s knife coming if he stepped over the line. Jazz could take care of himself, but against a mech with that many kills under his belt, he’d take any advantage he could get. 

So yeah, maybe instead of his preferred ‘charming sexbot’ or ‘laid-back dude’ routines, he’d do ‘obsequious leaker’. Orion Pax was absolutely the type to take in someone off the streets, feed them and let them follow him around, so it’d look believable. He’d just have to make sure not to play it up too much - he didn’t want to end up as a case study in one of Orion and Megatronus’ inevitable discussions about the caste system. 

Strategy thus decided upon, Jazz let Orion lead them out of the transport and into the streets. He kept a careful half-step behind his friend, hunched his shoulders and tucked his plating tight against his protoform. Luckily, his black-and-white colour scheme wasn’t too flashy - no one would be coming close enough to note the high-quality wax and the name-brand visor. Add the layer of dust from the road that was gradually sticking to them as they walked, and Jazz’s cover was solid. 

They continued walking, passing several disreputable shop-fronts, and many more empty buildings. It felt good to be back in Kaon after all the years Jazz had spent in Iacon; he’d passed more escape routes and entrances to Cybertron’s tunnels in the past block than he usually found in a single workday. Everything in Iacon was just so damned shiny. 

Kaon was definitely the opposite of shiny - and so was Megatronus. They finally found him at the entrance to some shut-down bar, reclining on a bench by the door with a datapad. His frankly ridiculous armour was scratched and dull, and completely devoid of paint - his entire frame was the eerie silver of a dead mech. Jazz had seen him in the vids, of course, but in person the effect was distinctly unsettling. He was feeling more and more glad that he’d insisted on accompanying Orion on this excursion. 

Jazz looked the area over, but it was surprisingly empty. He’d expected Megatronus to have an entourage of groupies like the fighters in Iacon, but instead he was sitting - wait, not quite alone. There, tucked almost behind him, was an absolute snack of a bot. He had a sharp, angular frame, and some kind of flight alt - wings on the arms instead of the back though, seekers must hate that - and most interesting of all, a gleaming black visor or mask covering his entire face. He was sitting perfectly still next to Megatronus, almost blending into the background; only his glowing purple biolights picked his form out of the shadows. 

Jazz regretted his chosen cover as soon as he saw him. The charcoal stranger was ticking a lot of his boxes, but the ‘obsequious leaker’ was no good for seduction. Maybe if they all ended up drinking, he could get away with a little charm, but for now he’d have to hang back and hope that dark-and-silent didn’t get picked up by anyone else. Bummer. He hadn’t expected this trip to be fun, but still. For now, he’d better his eyes on the prize - he’d come to Kaon to watch out for his friend, it wouldn’t be right to go getting distracted by a (presumably) sweet aft. 

Orion looked okay, for a given definition of okay. He and Megatronus were - well, they probably thought they were debating or discussing, but in Jazz’s opinion, the only word for it was flirting. Painful, awkward flirting. Orion had opened with some genuinely embarrassing gushing about Megatronus’ latest essay, and the gladiator had instantly jumped into talking about Orion’s response. At some point, the Megatronus had pulled out a datapad, and Orion had sat down next to him, leaning in until his little blue helm was millimeters from those stupidly spiked shoulder pauldrons. Forget getting a drink or even finding a private place to talk; they were in their own world. 

Primus. It was a good thing Jazz was on the lookout - these two probably wouldn’t notice an enforcer walking by with decals on display. With that thought in mind he took a klik to do a more thorough scan of their surroundings; enforcers or no, Orion and Megatronus’ voices were rising as their debate intensified, and it would be bad if they were overheard. Clear enough, but Jazz wouldn’t push his luck in unfamiliar territory. Just as he was about to try to usher the group somewhere safer, or at least more discreet, his comm pinged. 

[commsbot_superior]: query - goodvibes42’s cycle? 

[goodvibes42]: Feels good to be back in Kaon, mech, even if it is only for a visit. 

[commsbot_superior]: affirmative. 

[goodvibes42]: Like ‘yeah it feels good to be back too’? Why would you be visiting Kaon? Don’t you live here? 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - misunderstands. 

[goodvibes42]: What? 

[commsbot_superior]: yes. 

[goodvibes42]: Are you … messing with me? 

[commsbot_superior]: negative. 

[goodvibes42]: Primus, mech, I don’t have time for this. 

[commsbot_superior]: apologies. 

[goodvibes42]: It’s alright. Can you just try to tell me what you mean using more than two words? 

[commsbot_superior]: goodvibes42 - glad to be in Kaon. commsbot_superior - glad to see goodvibes42 in Kaon. 

[goodvibes42]: Aw, thanks my mech. Sorry for bein’ an aft when you were just tryin’ to be nice. 

[goodvibes42]: Hang on - did you just say ‘see’? 

[commsbot_superior]: affirmative. 

[goodvibes42]: Frag! How are you surveilling me right now? I just cleared the area!

[commsbot_superior]: affirmative. area - cleared. 

Jazz made another rushed scan to confirm commsbot’s words. He wasn’t really worried about his chat buddy - a friend of Megatronus wasn’t likely to turn Orion in - but if he’d missed one mech, he could have missed two. But no - even his more illegal scanners didn’t detect anyone within range. The bar was still closed, the street was still dead, and the security cams were still broken. There was nobody around but Orion, Megatronus, and Jazz himsel- frag. He was an idiot. He was going soft. There was someone else in the area, of course - the cutie with the purple biolights. 

[goodvibes42]: Primus, commsbot, is that really you?!

The bot, still silent, tilted his helm slightly, and a picture of a mech with two thumbs up appeared on his visor. Frag. Jazz really was going soft. Damned if he’d let commsbot know, though. 

[goodvibes42]: Well, mech? Shall we get this show on the road? 

[commsbot_superior]: affirmative.

\-- 

“I’m Jazz, by the way,” Jazz said. 

“Affirmative,” the angular mech replied. 

“And you’re Soundwave,” Jazz continued. 

“Affirmative. Query: reason for surprise at Soundwave’s appearance?” 

The simple answer was that Jazz hadn’t known what Soundwave looked like. The cultural investigator hadn’t bothered to look up any pics or vids of his chat companion when he did an initial background check. It shouldn’t have been relevant anyway; he hadn’t planned to meet with commsbot_superior, aka Soundwave, on this particular trip. 

Plus, some part of Jazz couldn’t help but feel like that would’ve been cheating. Commsbot was good, but nobody could completely hide the traces of their activities on the net. If Jazz had wanted to, he could have spent a couple joors learning everything there was to know about Soundwave of Kaon - or at least everything he had done in public. But, well. He didn’t want to. Chatting with commsbot wasn’t work - it hadn’t been that for a long time - and nobody was in danger. So yeah, Jazz liked to drag his personal investigations out a little when he could get away with it. It was more fun to figure things out slowly, using only the clues that his prey let slip during conversation. 

Besides, Soundwave was supposed to be a gladiator - Jazz had assumed that he would look like one. Oh, the mech could definitely take care of himself; he was tall enough that Jazz’s head only came up to his chest, and he moved with a kind of contained grace that clearly said ‘dangerous’ to anyone who knew how to look. But those blade-like arms were a marked change from Megatronus’ thick, heavy frame, and all the fighters Jazz knew in Iacon were built like tanks - blunt and in-your-face. Well, he knew what they said about assumptions. And, Primus help him, Jazz was feeling like an aft right about now, watching those intricate purple biolights appear and disappear with the sway of Soundwave’s hips. 

Screw it - his cover was blown, his potential conquest was now a threat to his ability to protect Orion, and he still hadn’t found a decently quiet energon house to hole up in. It wasn’t like a little flirting would make things any worse. 

“Guess I didn’t know you’d be so gorgeous, my mech,” he said, throwing in one of his classic light-flashing-through-the-visor winks for good measure. 

Soundwave seemed unphased; there was no change in his body language and his EM field was still tucked in tight. “Negative,” he said. 

“Negative what? You’re a smart bot, you gotta know how good you look.” 

“Jazz: exaggerating.” 

“What? Why would I do that?” 

“Assumption: to throw Soundwave off balance. Tactic: ineffective.” 

“Nah mech, I wouldn’t do that.” 

“Jazz: would do that.” 

“Okay, okay, maybe I would, but I’m not doing it to you right now.” 

Soundwave was silent. That was interesting - he’d always been quick with a comeback when they were chatting over the net. Jazz would have liked to let it be for a while, just to see what might happen, but Primus, he was getting sick of walking around aimlessly. 

“Well, don’t worry Sounders! We have all night for me to show you how lovely you are. Right now, though, can please find somewhere to sit down? Preferably somewhere that serves engex.” 

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said, with another little helm-tilt. A map appeared on his visor, highlighting the route to a fuelling joint a couple blocks away. 

Herding Megatronus and Orion there was no easy task - they were still caught up in their debate, chatting away with flushed cheeks and cooling fans running. Jazz wondered if Soundwave was feeling the secondhand embarrassment as strongly as he was. Probably not - Megatronus was probably like this all the time. Eventually, the four of them managed to settle in a booth with cubes of decent engex in front of them. 

Orion had unhesitatingly slid in next to Megatronus - the two were still passing that datapad back and forth. Were they co-writing an article in the middle of dinner? Typical. Anyway, Jazz was sitting next to Soundwave, so he supposed it was win-win. He leaned in and gave his erstwhile chat-buddy one of his more charming smiles. 

“So Sounders, now that we’re more comfortable, how about you tell me a little more about yourself?” Jazz didn’t necessarily think the ‘good listener’ approach to seduction would work on such a silent bot, but it probably wouldn’t hurt, either. 

Soundwave flinched - subtly, but his body language up until this point had been so understated that it stood out like a full-body shiver. He then slowly turned his helm, and Jazz realized that he had actually been listening to Orion and Megatronus’ conversation.

“Query: Jazz does not want to participate in discussion?” 

“Uhh, I wasn’t really planning on it. I’m not much of one for politics.” 

“Jazz’s occupation: political.” 

“Yeah well, let’s just say that Jazz isn’t such a big fan of his occupation, and leave it at that.”

“Query: reason for visiting Kaon, if not politics?” 

“I’m just here to keep an eye on OP, like I told you before,” Jazz sighed. Primus, he really didn’t want to think about what he did for a living right now. If the bots in this bar knew how many of their friends - hell, probably their amicas and conjuges too - he’d turned in? Well, Jazz could take care of himself, but no one bot could win a fight against an entire city. 

“Orion Pax: safe here.” 

“That’s right my mech!” Jazz laughed, casually tucking away his current mood. He flipped to comms, so as not to embarrass Soundwave. 

[goodvibes42]: You wanted Orion for yourself too! Jeez, mech, you better put the moves on quick - Megatronus has been getting in good with him for a whole joor already. Why don’t you jump in on the debate? Don’t mind me. 

[commsbot_superior]: negative. soundwave - has no interest in orion. 

[goodvibes42]: C’mon mech, you already told me that you did. Might as well admit it! I promise I won’t make fun. 

[commsbot_superior]: suggestion - jazz should review old messages. 

[goodvibes42]: I remember, don’t worry! You were asking if Orion was taken, for both Megatronus and yourself. 

[commsbot_superior]: incorrect. 

[goodvibes42]: C’mon mech, don’t try to gaslight me. I know what you said. Orion’s a cutie, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. 

[commsbot_superior]: soundwave - inquired about the relationship between jazz and orion. 

[goodvibes42]: Yeah, that’s what I said. 

[commsbot_superior]: negative. 

[goodvibes42]: Okay, but like, it’s basically the same thing. Wait - 

[goodvibes42]: Really? 

[commsbot_superior]: affirmative.

[goodvibes42]: Really-really? 

[commsbot_superior]: affirmative. soundwave’s interest - jazz’s relationship status. 

“Yeah right, mech. You haven’t given me an inch, and I’ve been flirting with you all day.” Jazz realized halfway through the sentence that he’d switched to talking out loud. Slag. Oh well, it wasn’t like Orion and Megatronus were paying the two of them any attention anyway. 

“Negative. Jazz’s flirting: expected. Meaningless.” 

“Ouch, mech. Why do you think that? Am I doin’ something wrong here?”

“Jazz: uses charm to disarm strangers - 83% of cases. Uses sex appeal to resolve conflict, gain advantages: 68% of cases. Flirting: not for Soundwave, specifically.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sounders! I was tryna blend into the background and keep from gettin’ noticed before I saw you. The flirting was actually me breaking cover.” 

“Jazz’s explanation: impossible to verify.” 

“Say, do those cases you studied include video footage of me?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“So, if you wanna check my explanation, why don’t you compare my body language when we walked up to those cases where I used seduction, huh? If they match, I’ll admit that you’re right.” 

“Agreed.” 

Surveillance footage of Jazz flickered over Soundwave’s visor, nearly too fast to see. More quickly than he would have believed possible, the playback ended and a [2% correlation - no match] notification popped up. 

“Well?” Jazz asked, just to be a prick. 

“Jazz’s intentions: confirmed.” 

“Great! Glad we got that cleared up. Now when I say something like ‘Wow Soundwave, you sure are pretty’, what do you say?” 

“Jazz: also pretty.” 

“Aw shucks, Sounders, you’re a real sweetspark. I just meant something like ‘thank you for the compliment’, but if you wanna tell me I look good, who am I to argue with that?” Jazz did a little dance in his seat, twisting his hips and lifting his arms above his head to draw Soundwave’s optics (if he had any, under that visor) to some of his nicer cables. 

“Query: Jazz flirting, or providing lessons in flirting?” 

“Ouch! Okay, mech, I’ll let you do your own thing, promise.” 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a spicy follow-up to this, which I'll post separately on day six.  
> Thank you for reading, please leave some feedback if you'd like!


	3. The Tired Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz takes a trip to Sanctuary Station. He’s not necessarily hoping to see his old lover, but - if he does? Well. Soundwave probably hasn’t changed that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jazzwave Week Day 4, aftermath.   
> Set in IDW 'verse, at some vague point in the timeline where Soundwave is still running his space commune, but Jazz has gotten fed up with being ignored by the other Autobots.

“It’s great there, sir, really!” 

“Cosmos, mech, I told you don’t hafta call me sir,” Jazz groaned. 

“Oh, sorry si - I mean, sorry.” 

Jazz nodded affably, knowing that Cosmos’ interior sensors would pick it up, even if his optics were nowhere to be seen in the spaceship’s cockpit. 

They sat in silence for a beat. 

“ - It’s just so weird you know,” Cosmos continued. “Like, you’ve been a sir for as long as I can remember.” 

“As long as you can remember? That sounds like info creep, my mech. You might wanna get a medic to check that out! You do - there is a medic there, right?” 

“Oh yeah, there’s a medic - Soundwave’s been recruiting, y’know? He’s pretty convincing, even for former Autobots, like you and me.” 

“I’m still an Autobot, Cosmos,” Jazz said, just a little too sharply. 

“Oh.” 

There was another beat. 

“Why, though?” the spaceship asked. 

“What do you mean, why? I’ve always been an Autobot.” 

Cosmos hesitated for a moment, and Jazz wondered what he was thinking about saying. Would he say that Jazz didn’t really act like one, anymore? Would he remind Jazz that the Autobots were hardly loyal to him? That Optimus Prime had forgotten him - that the Prime had cared so little for his former third in command that he left him behind to be captured, possibly even killed? Or perhaps just that the war was over, and Jazz needed to move on from his old faction, which had never really wanted him in the first place? 

But no, this was Cosmos. 

He just laughed, and said: “Sounds like you’re the one who should be worried about info creep, old mech.” 

Jazz laughed along with the spacecraft, and lightly redirected the conversation. Cosmos obliged him, chattering happily about the great new bars he was gonna show Jazz, and soon enough they were approaching their destination. 

Sanctuary Station. It looked like some kind of bizarre space-junk accident, with a human-influenced aesthetic that said ‘no matter how many old gods and eldritch horrors you throw at me, I won’t transform into a weapon of mass destruction’. In other words, not very impressive, compared to Cybertron. Still - maybe that was the kind of thing Soundwave liked now. Jazz didn’t really know the mech, anymore. 

Cosmos swooped through the open hatch and into a large airlock; ridiculously oversized for the green mech’s little alt-mode - the bay could have docked Astrotrain and Blitzwing at the same time. Classic Deception design; bigger was always better, and nevermind that there were more practical or economical solutions. Maybe Soundwave hadn’t changed as much as he’d imagined. 

Jazz shrugged off the buzz of feeling that that train of thought brought with it, and climbed out of his former subordinate. It was a little awkward - Cosmos wasn’t really sized for carrying other mechs, even ones that were half-minibot. Jazz was glad when he stepped onto solid ground/solid metal - but boy, it was weird to have those two tags classed together again, after so long on Earth. A planet literally named after dirt; minerals and water all glued together with organic matter, squishing underpede. Jazz felt an odd twist in his spark. 

Yeah, his CPU was a mess, and Primus, it had been a long time since he’d fueled. 

But hey! He was Jazz. This wasn’t the first time - or the thousandth - that he’d been hungry, tired and stuck in enemy territory. Didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be able to do his thing. 

He did a little shimmy to shake out the last of the stiffness, starting at his ankles and working up through his hips, letting it shiver through his shoulders until he had twisted his arms up over his helm, then arched backward so they nearly touched the floor. He luxuriated in the deep bend for a moment, letting out a vent and onlining his optics. 

Silver wall, brightly lit corridor, and yep - that was Soundwave, staring at his upside-down face. Jazz gave his cheekiest grin, and was rewarded with a clicking sound from somewhere deep within Decepticon’s frame. His cooling fans forcibly shutting off - it looked like Soundwave remembered exactly how bendy Jazz could be. Oh yeah - he still had it. 

He held eye contact for a moment, thinking about whether he wanted to double down on the tease or laugh it off, when Cosmos casually strolled by him and wrapped Soundwave up in a hug. What? 

Almost instantly, Jazz was on his feet, vibroblades out. His HUD was a mass of red pop-ups; an enemy was in range of one of his team members (someone was in range of Jazz’s lover). 

“Hands off, Decepticon,” he hissed, voice coldy precise. 

Soundwave froze; he’d heard that tone in battle before - he knew that he was one false move away from a stab in the spark. Cosmos, on the other hand, didn’t seem phased. He held Soundwave for another moment, long enough to make it clear that he knew he didn’t have to follow Jazz’s orders, sir or no sir, before turning and looking at his former commander. 

“I told you before, Jazz; the war’s over,” the spaceship sighed. “Now c’mon - put those away and let’s go get a drink.” 

\-- 

“So, you and Soundwave? Seriously, mech?” 

Cosmos giggled, ducking behind his cube of engex. “He’s a good person, Jazz. He took me in when nobody else wanted to - and he’ll do the same for you, if you’ll let him.” 

“Sounds like you let him do something, all right,” Jazz said slyly, flashing his visor in a wink. 

“Ja-azz! Primus, I forgot that you’re always like this.” 

“You know you love it - but not as much as you love a certain blue tape-player, eh? C’mon, gimme the details.” 

Cosmos put his drink down and clutched his hands together under his chin, like something out of a ridiculous human cartoon. He sighed, sweetly. 

“He proposed to me, y’know? It was the loveliest thing that ever happened to me, I think.” 

Jazz grinned through the shock of pain. “Dang, mech, I had no idea you two were so serious. So did I miss the ceremony, or what?” 

“Oh, we did it in private. Wanted it to be just us, y’know?” Cosmos’ visor glowed, lovestruck. 

Well, so. Yeah. It was a done deal. So, what? Mech up, Jazzie. So what if you and Soundwave had a little thing during the war. That didn’t mean anything - not back then, when either of you coulda died any klik, and not now. 

No, this was good. Cosmos was a good mech, he deserved to be happy. If happiness for him was a former Decepticon that Jazz happened to know was great in the berth, well - good. It was good. Neither of them needed to put up with a half-broken mech whose battle protocols were glitching all over the place (a mech who even Optimus Prime couldn’t be bothered with, couldn’t see the good in). 

“That’s real cute, my mech, I’m happy for you. Why don’t you got find your bot - I’m sure he’s missin’ you. I’ll just take myself off to berth, I know you don’t want a third wheel hanging around,” Jazz laughed. He waved, skipping off before Cosmos could reply. 

\--

Jazz was laying on his new recharge slab, tossing a knife from hand to hand, when he heard a knock on his habsuite door. 

Odd - he wasn’t expecting any visitors. Still, there was another berth in the room; maybe he had a roommate he didn’t know about? Please, Jazz thought in a vaguely downward direction (not that he necessarily thought Primus was inhabiting the centre of Sanctuary station) anything but a roommate. 

Tucking the vibroblade in one of his compartments, he hauled himself to his pedes to answer the door. He regretted his prayer as soon as the light hit his visitor. 

It was the only bot worse than a roommate, Mr. Conjunxed-to-Cosmos himself - Soundwave. 

“Jazz,” Soundwave said. 

“Soundwave,” Jazz said. 

They stood in silence for a moment, Jazz just inside the door, and Soundwave just outside it. 

“Query: will Jazz invite Soundwave in?” 

“Yeah, alright, fine. I’d rather not do this in the corridor. C’mon in, I guess.” Jazz walked away, settling himself on the edge of the recharge slab. He lounged there with deceptive laziness - both he and Soundwave knew that he could be on his pedes, weapons out, faster than you could reboot your optics. 

Soundwave gingerly took a seat on the adjacent slab. 

“I am,” the boombox began, haltingly - he’d always hated dropping his syntax filter. “I am pleased to see Jazz here. On Sanctuary Station.” 

“Sure Sounders, good to be here. Nothin’ like sharin’ space with a mech who was your worst enemy for four million years, right?” Jazz laughed, cuttingly. 

“Jazz: never Soundwave’s worst enemy.” 

He was almost surprised at the flash of shock and hurt through his spark. Of course you weren’t, Jazzie, he hissed at himself. Prowl was the tactical threat, Optimus - and hell, probably even Grimlock and Dinobots - were more dangerous on the battlefield. Soundwave might very well have fragged half the spies he found crawling in his vents - Primus knew Mirage was gorgeous, when he chose to make himself seen. Jazz’s own importance had been all in his head, just like usual. 

“Naw, mech, ‘course not.” 

“I had - I was hoping that, perhaps - Jazz - you and I could take this time to become. Closer,” Soundwave murmured, synth harmonics trembling. 

“Mmm, closer?” Jazz asked, sliding to his feet and stalking forward, until he was standing between Soundwave’s legs. “Like this close, maybe?” he asked, leaning in. 

Soundwave’s vocalizer let out a crackle of static. 

“No? Even closer, then?” Jazz’s lips were nearly brushing Soundwave’s mask. 

Soundwave shook for a moment, then relaxed all at once, sighing, “Yes.” His mask snapped open, and his hands reached for Jazz’s hips, but the former spec ops head danced away before he could get a grip. 

“And what would Cosmos think of us getting close like that?” asked Jazz, voice like a whip, cutting the silence. 

“Cosmos?” Soundwave asked, still swaying slightly. He’d closed his mask when Jazz stepped away, but his servos were still hanging in the air - reaching. 

“Cosmos? Your Conjunx Endura?” 

“W-what?” Soundwave stuttered. 

“How quickly you’ve forgotten,” Jazz laughed. He danced a few steps to burn off some of the energy pounding through his lines. “Cosmos? Round, green, spaceship? The bot who told me your proposal was the loveliest thing that ever happened to him?”

“Cosmos: said that?” 

“You bet he fragging did - that bot is absolutely gone on you. And this is the way you’re treating him?” 

“Suggestion: Jazz has misunderstood the situation.” 

Mm, and there when the filter - at least Jazz was getting under Soundwave’s plating. Maybe he could knock some sense into the mech, get him to do the right thing for Cosmos. If not, Jazz was more than willing to prove that he was, in fact, worst enemy material - even in peacetime. 

“Oh, do I not understand? Maybe it’s just Decepticon culture - right? You guys do things different, and Cosmos respects that? Well, lemme tell you something, Sounders; I was there watching your faction at least once an orn for the past four million years. I saw when Starscream almost ripped out Ramjet’s spark for winking at Megatron. I found the bodies of the mechs that Skywarp used to leave half-teleported inside the walls for hitting on Thundercracker. Pit, you Decepticons take exclusivity between conjuges even more seriously than Autobots do!” 

Soundwave rebooted his optics - Jazz could see the light flicker under his visor. What? Had he really not known that Jazz was around for all of that? Had he thought that he could fool the Autobots’ former third-in-command? Primus, tonight really was a night for revelations, wasn’t it. 

“Jazz: restate initial premise?” 

“Frag, Sounders, this isn’t one of your games.” 

“Please.” 

“Fine, mech, whatever you want. The premise is this; you came here to get under my panels. You and Cosmos are conjunx. You’re trying to cheat on Cosmos - again, your conjunx - with a mech that you had a wartime fling with back in the day. What about this is unclear to you?” 

“Jazz: is not wrong about Soundwave’s hopes for physical intimacy.” 

“Yeah mech, I know - we’ve been to berth together, remember? I know you only open your mask when you’re ready to go.” 

“Soundwave: remembers.” 

“So? If I’m not wrong, where’s the misunderstanding?” 

“Cosmos.” 

“Yep, your conjunx.” 

“Negative. Soundwave and Cosmos: not conjunx endura.” 

“Oh seriously, mech? That’s low. He told me himself that you proposed to him - are you gonna try and say that he made all of that up?” 

“Negative. Soundwave: did propose to, and bond with, Cosmos. Soundwave and Cosmos: Amica Endura.” 

“Bull -” Jazz cut himself off as the words penetrated his CPU. What?

“Jazz: seems unwilling to trust Soundwave.” 

The former spec ops mech spluttered. After a moment, he managed to say: “Can you blame me, mech?” 

Soundwave didn’t reply, simply raising a hand to his comm, and routing the call through his external speakers. Jazz could hear the ‘waiting to connect’ buzz hiss through the room. 

“Soundwave?” Cosmos’ voice came through the speaker. “What’s up, bud?” 

“Apologies for the interruption, Cosmos,” Soundwave replied. He sounded as cool as a cucumber, no worries about calling his mech with his side piece in the room. 

“All good, I’m just chilling! Do you need something? Want me to swing by your office?” 

At least some things never changed, Jazz thought. Back in the old days, he’d only ever bothered staking out Soundwave’s hab suite when he wanted to spy on the cassettes. 

“Negative. Cosmos: should know that Jazz is a party to this call.” 

“Uhh, okay. Hi, Jazz!” 

Frag, some mechs were just too innocent for this world. 

“Soundwave: would like to request a favour. Query: could Cosmos please describe the nature of our relationship?” 

“Sure thing! I already told Jazz about this earlier, though. Soundwave and I are Amica Endura! He proposed to me, like I told you - receive my light and the whole bit, it was really nice. We bonded less than an orn ago, but so far it’s been really great. I’ve never had a best friend before, y’know? Much less someone who liked me enough to actually make it official. I’m just so-” Cosmos gave a little sob, “I’m so happy!” 

“Soundwave: is happy, too. Cosmos: everything a mech could want in a friend.” The boombox was all but cooing into his comm. Jazz would have been a little disgusted, but he was too busy trying to reconcile the idea of Soundwave and Cosmos as Amica Endurae - official best friends? Was that a thing? 

“Cosmos: one further favour, please.” Soundwave asked, sounding vaguely - smug? 

“Sure thing, ‘Wave!” The space ship was back his bubbly, cheery self - no trace of the tears that had been thick in his voice just a minute ago. 

“Request: explain the sexual nature of our relationship.” 

“Uhh - there isn’t one? I dunno, ‘Wave, I don’t really wanna clang you. Like, this isn’t that kind of thing, y’know? But if you’re really in the mood, I can call up some people I know! Like - its a phone sex hotline. I don’t know them. But dang, once you get used to the weird terms, those humans are really great at dirty talk!” 

“Cosmos! You’ve been interfacing with humans through the phone lines?” Jazz was shocked into speech. Who knew the little UFO could be so kinky? 

“Not like, actually interfacing! Just chatting, you know? But like, about interfacing. The humans call it sex though. Or fucking, which I think sounds cool, too.” 

“Yeah, fucking is a pretty cool word,” Jazz agreed, momentarily diverted. “Those humans have a lot of imagination, can’t deny that.” 

Soundwave made an exasperated noise. “Final query: does Cosmos have any objections to Soundwave interfacing with Jazz?” 

“Oh! Holy - frag, Soundwave! You didn’t tell me that’s why you called. Primus, and I’ve been just nattering on. I’m so sorry. But - I mean yay! You asked Jazz to court and he said yes? Oh, I’m so proud of you ‘Wave. I think you guys are gonna be just great together.” 

Soundwave froze, belatedly muting his speakers. Jazz could see his optics flicking back and forth as he silently messaged Cosmos. 

Courting? Amica? Jazz clearly wasn’t ready to deal with peacetime. Well - Cosmos was a romantic. He’d probably just misunderstood; Soundwave probably just wanted a quick frag with someone familiar. 

“Apologies,” Soundwave crackled. 

“No worries, mech. Cosmos is a cute kid, but I know what’s between us. I’ve always been a good bot to come to for a no-strings-attached night of fun times.” 

“Negative.” 

“Sounders! You sayin’ being in the berth with me isn’t a good time?” Jazz slunk forward - he wasn’t really sure what was going on, but it seemed like fragging was back on the menu. He was okay with that - at least sex made sense, unlike everything else that had happened tonight. 

“Jazz: always a good time. However - Soundwave’s interest goes beyond interfacing.” 

“Oh-ho, really? You wanna do some weird slag? Makes sense, I guess - peacetime, so at least we’re gonna get called to our stations in the middle of a session.” 

“Negative. Soundwave - I - want more than one night from you, Jazz. More than a couple of stolen moments every vorn or so. I want to know you, one mech to another, instead of enemies on opposite sides.” 

“Thought I wasn’t your worst enemy, though.” 

“Jazz: so much more. To me.” 

“So, what do you wanna do? Is there a fancy name for this, too?” 

“Some mechs might call it courting. But Soun- I - don’t need anything formal. I just want to spend time with you, and get to know you. See where that takes us.” 

“And get me into berth too, right?” 

“I would not be - averse. If Jazz wanted to.” 

“Alright, mech. I guess we can see where this takes us,” Jazz said, grinning, as he threw himself into Soundwave’s lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All through IDW phase 2, when Jazz was running around being dumb on earth, I was waiting for him to reveal his master plan and take control of events like a super-competent spy and member of Autobot high command. Did he? No. He got outsmarted by humans. IDW Jazz is just dumb.   
> Anyway, I love CosWave a lot, but I think they also work well as amicas! Thank you for reading!


	4. Big Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is sparked. Jazz is terrified. They should probably talk about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something short and fluffy for the last day of Jazzwave Week 2020 - for the prompt Legacy.  
> Vaguely G1 setting.  
> There is discussion of mech preg here, but nothing graphic or onscreen. Jazz and Soundwave just stand around and talk - that's the fic.

“Say again?” 

“Soundwave: sparked.” 

Jazz rocked back on his pedes. “This is some kinda weird host thing, right? You’re not like, sparked-sparked, right?” 

“Negative.” 

Jazz laughed, awkwardly. He dismissed a few notifications on his HUD recommending that he extract himself from the situation causing him severe distress. Damn peacetime mods.

“Jazz: we discussed this.” 

“Yeah, mech, I know we did,” he choked out. 

“Jazz: agreed to participate.” 

“I just - slag, Sounders. Really? We really did it - on the first try?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“I guess I just - didn’t realize it would work so quickly.” 

“Jazz: regrets agreeing to generate a sparkling with Soundwave?” 

Jazz didn’t regret it - he didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but it wasn’t regret. He knew that he loved Soundwave, and he wanted to make him happy. But his plating was rattling, his vents were laboured, and his processor was running on an endless loop of no-no-no. What was this - what was his frame reacting to? 

Oh yeah - absolute, gut-wrenching terror. 

Jazz forced himself to stop pacing and walk into Soundwave’s open arms. Unable to find the right words, he let his love and fear fill his EM field. 

“Reminder: Autobots, Decepticons - at peace. Danger to sparkling: significantly decreased.” 

“I know that, Sounders. But they’re just - they’re gonna be so tiny, and helpless. So many bad things could still happen to them.” 

“Query: Rumble and Frenzy - helpless?” 

“Naw, I know they’re not. Those little slaggers kicked my aft more’n a few times, back in the day. But they’re grown, y’know? They know how to take care of themselves.” 

“Affirmative. Still, Jazz knows size does not determine how dangerous a mech can be.” 

Jazz laughed. “That a dig at me, love? Still ashamed that you let someone who’s half-minibot get the best of you in battle, so very many times?” 

“Times: not that many,” Soundwave replied. It was an old argument, comfortable and worn. The lines helped put Jazz at ease. 

“More times that you got me, though,” he said with a laugh. 

“Debatable.” 

Jazz laughed again, sliding a hand between their frames to rest over Soundwave’s cassette dock - over his spark. 

“What do you think they’ll be like? The newspark, I mean,” Jazz asked. 

“Sixty percent chance: cassette or host-mech frame, thirty percent chance: four-wheeler frame. Additional ten percent: unforeseen coding combination; possibilities including flight-frame, lab equipment alts.” 

“Wow, how wild would it be to have a tiny lil’ cassette bitlet? What would Ravage think of that, eh? Sharing space with our sparking?” 

“Best course of action: find alternative host-mech for sparkling.” 

“Wait, really? You’d be okay with giving them away like that?” Jazz drew back to look up at Soundwave’s face - he knew how protective the host-mech was with his cassettes - the thought that he’d let some other boombox dock their kid? He couldn’t see it. 

“Negative. Equality: basis of host-symbiont relationship. Sparkling: will be raised by Jazz, Soundwave - not treated as a teammate.” 

“Okay, yeah, I feel that. No matter how old they get, they’re always gonna be our baby. Oh, but wait - what are we gonna do for them if they’re a little cassette then? No offense, Sounders, but I don’t think they should join Blaster’s team. Or even a little host? Maybe they can share Lazerbeak when they get old enough…” Jazz mused. 

“Post-war baby boom: will provide. Hopefully,” Soundwave’s harmonics sounded weary - and no wonder. The post-war baby boom was wreaking havoc with supply and logistics. Jazz was just happy that his new job in government consisted of a lot of sitting around looking pretty, and a little bit of welding the meeting room tables to the floor before Prowl got there, rather than math and ugh - reports. 

No wonder it was busy, though - felt like you couldn’t walk for two kliks these days before getting nearly run-over by some little seekerling or toy-car. And of course Soundwave would have been right there in the first wave, if Jazz hadn’t taken a little extra convincing. But, hang on - seekers and grounders were everywhere, sure, but not cassettes and hosts.

“Aren’t you and Blaster the only boomboxes out there that we know of, though? I mean, I don’t think Chromedome and Rewind are planning on sparklings anytime soon - yeah didn’t get that vibe from them at all. Nobody else is conjunxed, that I know of. And Blaster’s not a one-bot kinda mech, if you know what I’m saying.” 

Soundwave let out a low growl. He knew exactly what Jazz was saying - the former spec-ops agent didn’t believe in keeping secrets from his lover. And well, Jazz did have a type. A big, boxy frame and sweet set of speakers did it for him, every time. 

Still, Soundwave clearly wasn’t in the mood to show Jazz who he belonged to - and too bad, ‘cause that was always a fun time. No, the tape-player was still thinking about the little spark tucked behind his docks; Jazz knew that dreamy glaze of his visor very well. 

“Ratchet, Ironhide: have some host coding. Glit, Rosanna, Sundor: have yet to return to Cybertron,” Soundwave offered. 

“Oh, so you’re just gonna wait and hope, huh? Why don’t I believe that, love?”

Soundwave smirked behind his mask - nothing visible changed, but Jazz could tell. “If required: Jazz and Soundwave can always generate another sparkling.” 

“Oh-ho, I see. You’re hoping that we have a little host or cassette so you can get sparkling number two without all the convincing. Well, Sounders - I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; let’s just start with one and see how it goes. If required, I’ll take a ship and go find fragging Glit myself, how’s that?” 

“Compromise: always possible.” 

“Am I nothing but a baby factory to you, Soundwave? Do you only want me for my spike?” Jazz joked. 

“Soundwave: manufacturing the baby. Jazz’s contribution: already over,” his conjunx replied, deadpan.

“That’s not the point,” Jazz pouted, tucking his face against Soundwave’s plating. 

They held each other in silence for long moments, EM fields meshing. 

Eventually, Jazz murmured: “Y’know, that’s not what I meant, when I asked what you think they’ll be like.” 

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied softly. 

“So?” Jazz asked. 

“Their spark: feels like light. Sparkling: will be beautiful,” Soundwave said. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so too, love,” Jazz agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun participating in Jazzwave Week!  
> Hope that you all did too, and thank you for reading.


End file.
